


Flowers In The Color Of

by wednesday



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Consent Issues, Extremely Dubious Consent, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Minor Blood Drinking, Sex Pollen, Sex in the Blood of their Enemies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-17 15:46:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10597176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wednesday/pseuds/wednesday
Summary: “Orange. Yellow leaves.”What?“What? You mean red?” Geralt tried to get up from kneeling in a puddle of blood. It didn’t go so well, but at least he didn’t fall down on his face. It felt almost like a victory at this point.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heeroluva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heeroluva/gifts).



“What the hell is that?” Iorveth was trying to wipe off a splatter of yellow off the side of his face. It looked strangely bright amid all the blood for a moment and then not. Fuck, Geralt’s vision was off, everything was in too much contrast, colors too bright and washed out in turns. He was either extremely exhausted, which he knew he wasn’t even near to, or something had gone wrong with one of the potions he’d taken to stay awake for the third day in a row.

“It looks,” Geralt tried to answer and had to concentrate to keep to the correct volume, “looks like – archespore venom?”

“Are you _asking_ me, witcher?” Iorveth seemed more than a little displeased. The yellow stuff had splashed up to the corner of his mouth, not good.

Geralt looked around and tried to figure out which of the dead bodies was most likely to have some kind of antidote on them. Their general appearance made it seem they’d be smart enough to consider accidentally getting poisoned with their own weapon, but one never knew. Maybe they were stupid enough to overlook that possibility, they _did_ think it a good idea to attack him.

The stone floor was flat and almost completely covered in blood. He’d have to scrub his boots to get the stench of it out.

“It’s archespore acid.” He ignored Iorveth’s not so silent cursing; he could smell the acid better, now that he was getting used to the blood. “Very toxic.”

“Acid?” Iorveth exclaimed and followed up with a string of elven curses even Geralt was unfamiliar with. Geralt tried to concentrate, but Iorveth’s increasingly aggressive attempts to get the stuff off his face were making him dizzy. He tried to reach down and check the purse of the body most likely belonging to the leader of the morons ambushing a witcher and an elven soldier, but he stumbled and fell. He landed heavily on his knees and the blood splashed like a puddle.

“Are you poisoned? Did you not think it worth mentioning?”

“’M not poisoned. Witchers are immune to archespore toxins.” Theoretically. Theoretically witchers shouldn’t have any effects more adverse than surface burns from getting archespore acid on skin. Of course he had no idea if he’d accidentally inhaled some and what type of archespore it was.

Geralt didn’t try to get back up and slowly checked the pockets and purses of the nearest body and found nothing resembling an antidote.

“What are you looking for?”

“An antidote.” Geralt looked up and fought through a wave of dizziness. Iorveth looked bloody, more displeased than usual and like the only thing in focus in the whole cave. Geralt tried not to blink too obviously.

“Witchers are immune,” Iorveth pointed out slowly, clearly not believing it for a minute.

“For you. It’s on your skin, ‘s enough for a lethal dose.”

Iorveth looked at him for a while longer, even more disbelieving now. He shook his head and took off deeper into the cave.

“What should this antidote look like?” the cave carried his voice rather well. It sounded nice. It, hell, there was something seriously wrong with Geralt. He felt warm all over and the world kept swimming out of focus now that Iorveth wasn’t in his field of vision anymore.

“Like a vial with a pale or golden liquid. Might be clear with a golden sheen.” He reached for the next body and checked it’s pockets. He managed to clumsily check all three men within his reach before the faint sound of Iorveth’s wandering footsteps stopped abruptly.

“Archespores are plants, right? Big, ugly, with the jaws of a bear?”

“Yes. Don’t go near it, it spits acid.”

“Them. These _dh'oines_ were _growing_ them here. I’ve found what happened to the missing drunks you were looking for, too.” Fuck. Geralt didn’t need to see what someone growing archespores would do with missing villagers. Really, the disdain in Iorveth’s voice was for once completely justified.

“What color are the plants?” _Say brown, say brown_ -

“Orange. Yellow leaves.” _What?_

“What? You mean red?” Geralt tried to get up from kneeling in a puddle of blood. It didn’t go so well, but at least he didn’t fall down on his face. It felt almost like a victory at this point.

“Of the two of us, I think I’m the one most qualified in discerning the color of plants. I meant exactly what I said.” Iorveth came back into the cavern and the world seemed to focus on him. Geralt could have counted his hair from the distance of several feet while even his own hands looked blurry right then. He couldn’t think.

“Are you okay, _Gwynbleidd_?” Iorveth sounded concerned, fuck. Geralt must have looked close to death.

Iorveth took a step closer and stumbled. He didn’t fall down, but clearly Geralt wasn’t the only one affected. Another step and he kneeled down next to Geralt and pressed his fingers to Geralt’s wrist. His skin felt like fire on Geralt’s and he could suddenly feel his own heartbeat galloping like a racehorse.

Iorveth kept his fingers to his wrist for a few moments, then wrapped them around it as if holding on to Geralt. He leaned closer and Geralt finally noticed his flushed face, the pupil of his eye huge and black.

“How long would you need to make an antidote?” Iorveth asked without letting go of Geralt’s hand.

“No idea. I don’t fucking know how an _orange_ archespore venom works. Shouldn’t be working on me at all.”

“It’s probably not deadly, if they’re not keeping antidotes on hand,” Iorveth said, and yes, that sounded reasonable. Geralt should have thought of that. He’d just wait and, uh, look at Iorveth’s pretty face some more and… wait it out? Yeah, that.

Iorveth’s hand around his wrist felt like a red-hot brand.

“Damn. Like a succubus venom,” Geralt muttered, but Iorveth was definitely close enough to hear.

“So you’re saying the antidote is fucking?” Iorveth sounded both amused and very very unamused at the same time.

“Or waiting it out,” he replied, because really, the kind of venom that made the body heat up and crave sex wasn’t usually toxic enough to kill a healthy adult. It _was_ apparently toxic enough to work on a witcher. Strong too – the whole cave seemed to be slowly spinning and he was pretty sure he couldn’t get up and walk in a straight line.

“You look sick enough to keel over. Waiting that long won’t work for you.”

“It’ s not like there’s a brothel at hand. We’re in the middle of the woods, it’s a couple hours’ walk back to town.” He should have sent Iorveth off to look for volunteers elsewhere, when he appeared ready to drag Geralt out here to look at a fucking _suspicious trail._ Not that he was blaming anyone now, oh no.

Damn, maybe if he had some golden oriole, but any more potions would probably only make it worse at this point. White honey maybe. Something.

“Clearly it’s making you stupid as well. I have no wish to wait and see, if it will have the same effect on me,” Iorveth said and Geralt felt like protesting; he wasn’t –

Iorveth leaned closer and kissed him roughly, sharp teeth catching against Geralt’s lips almost drawing blood but not quite. Geralt tried to push him away, but it, uh, he. Failed, kind of. His free hand ended up clutching at the front of Iorveth’s clothes, possibly pulling him closer. It was even harder to concentrate like this, lips pressing against his, a hand sliding along his cheek, up in his hair.

After maybe a minute of kissing or maybe more – his sense of time was slipping – Iorveth fisted his hand in Geralt’s hair and pulled until it started to sting and Geralt had to lean back.

“Take your clothes off,” Iorveth ordered and started to undress himself. He had to let go of Geralt’s hand and hair to do it, but he kept glancing back up at Geralt’s face every few moments. He looked more intense than usual, completely focused on his goal.

Geralt kept staring at him, taking deep breaths of blood-smelling air. He licked his lips and tried to put into words how hard he found catching up with what was happening. His mind felt too slow. “This isn’t. I don’t -”

“You _will_ ,” Iorveth enunciated and threw most of his clothes away, to the side of the cave. Geralt saw his bare chest for the first time, pale and half covered in a detailed vine tattoo. He felt too warm and cold at the same time, half wanting to reach out and touch, but _it was the venom_ _and he really shouldn’t_ -

Iorveth tore at the clasps of Geralt’s clothes, unbuckled his armor and got it all off unnaturally fast. He had no doubts about touching at all, he tossed Geralt’s clothes in the same direction as his own and immediately pressed his burning palms to Geralt’s chest and slid them down to his abs.

“Wait, just -” Geralt tried to object and Iorveth pushed. Geralt landed on his back in the slowly cooling pool of blood and Iorveth followed, his hands landing next to Geralt’s face. He kissed Geralt again, just as roughly as before. He leaned down and pressed their bodies together, skin against skin like fire, too hot and yet Geralt couldn’t have pushed him away even if he tried. It felt too fucking good and yeah, okay, he moaned into the kiss and tried to match Iorveth’s lips and teeth with his own.

Iorveth moved his hand down to Geralt’s side, fingers sticky with blood and left a trail down to Geralt’s leg, shifted it out of the way and pressed down-

Fuck, he was so hard already, his dick pressing against Geralt’s equally hard length through their trousers. Geralt’s hips moved without much thinking on his part, thrust up and a wave of shivery pleasure spread all over him. Iorveth growled and thrust down and a new wave of pleasure followed the first one, leaving Geralt with a pins-and-needles feeling everywhere. He felt like his breath had been punched out of him, too overwhelmed to do anything but spread his legs wider and let Iorveth thrust against him again and again.

Geralt opened his eyes, _when had he closed them_ , and looked up. Iorveth was looking back and he was – his face was uncovered. It sobered Geralt up slightly, but the next press of Iorveth’s hips took it away again. He reached up and trailed his fingers next to the dark shadow of Iorveth’s scars and over his lips. Iorveth kept looking down, intent and not soft at all.

For a few more moments Iorveth allowed Geralt’s exploration of his face, then slapped his hand away and leaned down again, pressed a stinging kiss to the side of Geralt’s neck. Geralt turned his head to allow more access and felt blood slowly drenching his hair. The cool contrast might have helped him focus on why this shouldn’t be happening, but Iorveth chose then to reach down, untie Geralt’s trousers and reach inside. He took Geralt’s cock in hand and started up a rhythm of fast strokes. It stunned Geralt with pleasure for a few moments, forced a string of half muffled sounds out of him and then it went rapidly from very good to not good at all.

The fingers felt too tight and too fast and fuck, Geralt wasn’t there yet, he didn’t want to come and didn’t know what he wanted, but it wasn’t this. He tried to shift away, suddenly very aware of the blood sticking to him everywhere. Iorveth didn’t stop, instead he took hold of the hand pushing at his chest and held it up above Geralt’s head. Without stopping the fast strokes he bit the side of Geralt’s neck not quite lightly and dragged his teeth down to where his neck met his shoulder.

Geralt couldn’t move the trapped hand and the other one might as well have been pressing against a wall instead of Iorveth’s chest for all the good it did. His vision was blurry and pulsing again, everything going in and out of focus and he didn’t want to, but Iorveth’s hand on his dick was hot and fast, and just as Iorveth bit down sharply over the circle of scars left by a bruxa bite, Geralt came all over Iorveth’s hand and abs.

Iorveth let go of him after a few more strokes, released his hand and with a lingering slide of fingers across his wrist leaned away.

Geralt stayed lying on the floor, too hot and cold at the same time. The bite was stinging almost like when he first got it and he felt like he was maybe shivering, unable to think. He just. Wanted to say something, but he had no idea what that might have been.

The strong smell of blood with a trace of his own release was suddenly overwhelming Geralt’s senses, barely leaving place for anything else.

He heard movement and looked up, Iorveth still in perfect focus, though everything else was starting to clear up too. Iorveth was covered in bloody handprints - _had Geralt touched him so much? He couldn’t remember –_ the vines down his side and chest all covered in red prints like blooming flowers.

Between one moment and the next Iorveth kneeled back down between Geralt’s thighs and touched him again, ran his hands down his chest and sides along the trail of scars and Geralt -

Fuck, he felt uncomfortable and uncomfortably sober and he still wanted to reach out and touch, just wanted. Iorveth’s touch made his skin heat up where it had already been cooling down and the bite on his neck started throbbing pleasantly again. _What the hell_ , it hadn’t felt pleasant at all when he first got it, and now he suspected it would always make him think of sex instead of dangerous blood loss.

Iorveth pushed at his hips and expertly divested Geralt of the last of his clothes leaving them both equally naked. He leaned down and Geralt reached up, left another set of bloody handprints on Iorveth’s pale, strangely unscarred skin, pulled him closer and kissed him.

Geralt still felt slow and the kiss turned out less sharp and rushed as before, tasting, unsurprisingly, of blood.

Their bodies were pressed together, Iorveth still hard and Geralt on his way there, inspired by the short thrusts of Iorveth’s hips against his.

Geralt shifted to get a better angle and Iorveth groaned into the kiss, then growled and bit Geralt’s lip and with a sticky press of fingers against the inside of his knee moved one of Geralt’s legs. Geralt tried to follow him up when Iorveth leaned back, but Iorveth pressed his palm to Geralt’s chest and held him down. With his other hand he reached down, arranged himself and fuck, Geralt could feel the head of Iorveth’s dick pressing insistently against his ass.

He tried to sit up again, but Iorveth held him down with unexpected ease.

“Don’t move,” Iorveth hissed impatiently and shifted and -

Fuck, it hurt and Geralt wanted to _stop,_ just for a moment, so he could _think_. Iorveth kept pushing deeper with short thrusts and Geralt could feel every slightest movement and fuck. It felt strange and too intense and it still hurt and his hips moved to meet the next thrust without his leave.

Iorveth chuckled and started up longer, faster thrusts, his hand on Geralt’s chest still holding him down and the other one gripping Geralt’s hip tightly enough to maybe even leave bruises on a witcher. Geralt clutched at the hand on his chest, suddenly thankful for something to hold on to. He had trouble drawing enough air, hips moving into Iorveth’s thrusts and dick completely hard again.

He was too uncoordinated and breathless to manage jerking himself or even just letting go of Iorveth’s hand, and he desperately hoped Iorveth would do it for him sometime soon. The best he got, though, was Iorveth’s pelvis slapping against his balls on every thrust, and it wasn’t nearly enough, the added pain only making him more desperate.

Iorveth kept the same rhythm for a while, until he too seemed to get closer to coming and his thrusts became shorter and faster. He slid his hand up above Geralt’s shoulder, next to his face, laced his fingers with Geralt’s where Geralt was still holding on and leaned down to bite sharply at Geralt’s chest. The pain made Geralt arch his back, pressing his chest even more into the teeth breaking his skin, but fuck, he didn’t care. His dick was finally sliding against Iorveth’s abdomen, and coupled with a dick in his ass it was apparently enough to make him come again, longer and harder than before.

It took a while for him to come back to himself and notice Iorveth licking the bite on his chest. It felt painful enough to be bleeding and Iorveth was - drinking the blood? The next sharp thrust made a wave of shivers rush over Geralt again. Before he could do anything more, Iorveth thrust a few more times and with a muffled growl came inside Geralt.

He collapsed on top of Geralt and stayed there, face against Grealt’s chest and showing no intent to move. Geralt felt increasingly aware of his own shoulderblades, scraped against the ground. His legs were still placed around Iorveth’s hips, he had no idea when he’d moved them there, and. He felt very sated and very uncomfortable and he didn’t know what to do next. He’d had to leave many a bed in a rush, but this was probably the strangest afterglow he’d ever had.

“Well, you’re not dead, _Gwynbleidd_ ,” Iorveth drawled half amused, voice more steady than Geralt could attempt right then, and got up slowly. He tugged at Geralt’s hand until Geralt realized their fingers were still entwined and Iorveth couldn’t get his own hand back. He had to put effort into releasing his hold. Iorveth drew away and out, untangled himself from Geralt. His mouth was smeared red with Geralt’s blood and his everywhere else with the blood of others.

While Iorveth went in search of his clothes, Geralt slowly sat up. Fuck, he hurt all over, his ass, his back scraped against the floor and the two bites throbbing painfully, the second one a few inches lower than the first. He wondered if elf teeth could leave a scar on him. Not that he, uh, needed a scar to remember this by.

He got up and grimaced; damn, the congealing blood on his back felt disgusting. No way could he put clothes on without wiping that off. Even then he’d draw all the corpse eaters for miles.

At least Iorveth was right about him not being dead – he could see more or less normally and walk without effort. He did still watch Iorveth dress, the red handprints he’d left on his skin disappear under clothes and maybe wanted to -

Some of the venom still lingering probably.

“Here,” Iorveth said and tossed him an only slightly bloody rag, “clean up and get dressed. Be done by the time I’m done setting fire to this place.” He sounded extremely vicious for someone who’d just ploughed somebody and took a torch from the wall before stalking away.

The advice sounded reasonable, though, so that’s what Geralt did, though he was already dreaming about a hot bath or hell, a cold river, whatever he could get would do. By the time Iorveth reappeared, Geralt was dressed, though still uncomfortable. The faint yet steadily growing smell of smoke indicated he’d actually managed to set fire to something somehow, but Geralt used generous amounts of igni on their way out of the caves just to be sure.

“Get back to town and try not to get poisoned again on the way. There’s things that need doing sooner rather than later,” Iorveth said outside the caves, in his usual manner again, and turned to leave.

“So we’re not talking about this?” Geralt asked before Iorveth had a chance to disappear into the trees. Right now was probably the only time he’d get to ask about it at all.

Iorveth looked back at him, eyebrow raised.

“I know where you sleep, _Gwynbleidd_ , I’ll come find you when I feel the need to _talk_ ,” he drawled mockingly, the leer on his face a little too interested to be false. Geralt could still see the faint red smears across his lips and a red fingerprint among the vines on his neck, half covered by his collar.

“Yeah, okay,” Geralt replied roughly and after a silent moment and the faintest surprised smile from Iorveth, they each turned and walked off into the woods.


End file.
